


The Creation of Beauty

by RedOrchid



Category: Bandom
Genre: Community: bandomstuffsit, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:18:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedOrchid/pseuds/RedOrchid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Spencer Smith finds a very confusingly hot blog and is lead on a kinky journey of self-discovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Creation of Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> For bandomstuffsit 2012 (gift for ladyfoxx)  
> Art at the end by LJ intricate-life

Spencer is single again, which is just typical. While everyone around him is busy getting engaged or married or having sickeningly adorable babies, Spencer’s relationships keep hitting the now annoyingly familiar wall of devolving into platonic friendship. His most recent girlfriend is currently in Australia, happily sending him e-mails about sunny beaches like she couldn’t be happier with how things turned out. Maybe she couldn’t. Spencer’s never quite sure of whether he should be relieved or pissed off at the persistent lack of drama in his love life.

The band’s in the studio again, but on a pretty chill schedule, so Spencer has quite a bit of time on his hands. And since the people he usually hangs out with (Brendon and Dallon; God, he really needs to go out and expand his circle of best friends at some point in the future) are busy planning weddings and going to Disneyland, he spends more than one evening home alone, mindlessly surfing the Internet.

And then he finds The Blog.

He doesn’t remember how he came across it in the first place—bored and clicking links at random, most likely—but he remembers what caught his attention: a mess of pearls, draped across a flat chest and stomach and wrapped around a wrist and hand of someone wearing elbow-length gloves. The hand was clenched, tugging at two strands of pearls that ran across the person’s lower stomach to disappear over the edge of the frame, and even though he couldn’t actually _see_ it, Spencer just knew where they must have be going, what they must have been wrapped _around_. The sudden flash of heat that hit him left him stuck in place, staring at the picture while his mind ran confused circles around itself. The person in the picture was clearly a guy— _not_ what Spencer’s usually attracted to—and pearls, gloves and some weird kink combining the two? Even hours—days—later, Spencer can’t begin to figure that one out.

For some reason, he bookmarked it, back on that first night, and now he keeps coming back, looking at picture after picture of the same lean, male body getting creative with everything from thigh-high stockings to corset lacing. It’s artsy and black and white and completely different from the run-of-the-mill commercial porn Spencer usually watches, but it makes him harder than any of the regular stuff ever has, and after getting over the initial weirdness of jerking off to pictures of a _guy_ , in _silk gloves_ , it’s like he can’t stop. And that makes him wonder.

Spencer’s never really been the experimenting type. He lost his virginity to Haley way back when, and when the two of them could get together between recording and touring, just _having_ sex felt way more important than how it was done. The relationships he’s had since have been more of the same, and Spencer’s always figured he was happy with that.

Besides, Brendon experiments enough for both of them. Possibly enough for the entire state of California. Spencer frequently wishes that he could bleach his brain after he makes the mistake of asking him about his weekend.

So this… thing, it’s definitely new. A dirty little secret he gets to have all to himself. Unfamiliar. Unexpected. _Exciting_. He clicks on a new picture and pulls his laptop closer, feeling his pulse run a little faster as a close-up of cream lace over sharp hipbones fills the screen.

***

Spencer is dead set on keeping his new obsession to himself, which naturally means that Brendon finds out in less than a week.

It’s really not Spencer’s fault, when you think about it. Brendon just has this creepy knack of drawing things out of people. Or shocking things out of them, as the case may be.

Also there is beer involved. And quite possibly a shitload of weed. So really, Spencer does not feel he can be blamed for this one.

***

“Sarah has a play date with one of her friends and kicked me out for the night,” is the first thing Brendon says when he shows up at Spencer’s door, pizza boxes and a six-pack of beer in hand. “So I figured we could hang out. Pizza?”

Spencer takes the offered boxes and leads the way inside the house. Behind him, Brendon’s phone beeps.

“Oh, this is so not fair,” Brendon says, clicking away at his phone with a broad smile on his face. “Spence, what’s another word for ‘horrible tease’?”

“What, no pictures?” Spencer asks before he can help himself.

Brendon laughs. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Actually,” Spencer says, putting the boxes down on the kitchen counter and grabbing a slice, “I’m very happy not knowing exactly what your fiancée looks like in naked dirty photos. Thanks, but no thanks and all that.”

“Your loss,” Brendon says, shrugging. “You’re really missing out though. Sarah’s been in a girl-on-girl kind of mood all week. It’s been awesome. I don’t even know where she finds some of the clips she has in her stash.”

Spencer heads over to the fridge and pulls out two bottles of beer. He might as well get a good buzz started, since Brendon seems to be in a sharing mood.

“You ever had a threesome with two girls, though?” Brendon continues, completely oblivious of Spencer’s discomfort. “Waaay less awesome than it looks. Twice the amount of work and even though I’m all for strap-ons as a general rule, they just don’t feel like the real thing, you know?”

Spencer makes a non-committing sound and cracks open a bottle.

***

It’s long past midnight and Spencer’s lost track of how many bottles of beer have followed that first one, or how many bowls they’ve packed and smoked since then. He’s floating in a haze of almost-asleep-but-not-quite, occasionally getting his eyes stuck on stuff like the fibres in the carpet.

His focus is broken when something warm and Brendon-shaped falls down on top of him, and even more so when it starts to nuzzle wetly at the side of his neck.

“Hey, can I blow you?” Brendon murmurs, hands shamelessly trying to make their way under Spencer’s shirt. It tickles. Spencer starts laughing even as he tries to tries to bat the hands away. For some reason, Brendon always seems to have at least four times the amount of hands of a normal human being when he’s trying to grope someone.

“Come on, dude. Stop it.”

Brendon sits up, pout firmly in place. “You always say no. Spencer, why do always say no?”

Spencer tries for his best be-serious look. “Because you’re my best friend?”

“That’s a stupid reason,” Brendon complains. “Like, seriously stupid. Who turns down free blowjobs? They’re like the friendliest thing ever.”

“Apparently, I do.”

“Stuuuupid,” Brendon sighs, but thankfully climbs off Spencer’s lap and collapses next to him on the carpet instead. “Just so you know, I’m awesome in bed.”

Spencer snorts. “You might have mentioned. Once or twice.”

“Good,” Brendon mumbles, closing his eyes. “That’s good.”

He’s asleep less than a minute later, and Spencer briefly considers just going to bed and leaving him where he is, countless nights on tour giving evidence to the fact that Brendon can sleep pretty much anywhere without even experiencing a stiff neck in the morning. In the end, however, he drags Brendon with him to his own bed and drapes an extra blanket somewhat on top of him. Then he pulls off his own jeans and socks and crawls under the covers on the opposite side. He reaches for his laptop mostly by habit and soon finds himself typing the blog’s URL into the address bar.

A new entry loads, showing off a bare back and shoulder, a net of black pearls and crystals draped across the smooth skin. Spencer touches two fingers to the screen, imagines what it would feel like to run his tongue across each exposed patch of skin and feels a shiver run down his spine.

He falls asleep smiling.

***

“Dude, this stuff is awesome!”

Spencer jerks awake, groggy and disoriented and growing even more so when the first thing he sees is a very dishevelled-looking Brendon in bed next to him.

Then he realises what Brendon is doing, and sobriety returns in a chilly wave of panic. “Give me that.”

“You, Spencer Smith, have unknown kinky depths,” Brendon says, deftly keeping the computer out of Spencer’s reach. “Oooooh, liquid latex!”

“Give it back.”

“Wow, this one’s hot,” Brendon continues happily, rolling out of bed to keep Spencer from catching up with him. “And _this one._ Jesus, that guy has the most perfect dick I’ve seen since—” He stops in his tracks, eyes going wide at whatever he’s seeing on the screen, and Spencer takes the opportunity to wrestle the laptop out of his hands and throw the lid shut.

“Keep out of my stuff.”

“Huh?” Brendon says, apparently still in the daze of whatever fantasy the guy on the blog’s nether regions inspired. “Yeah, sure. Sorry. I didn’t mean to—this is pretty huge though. I mean, it’s you, and— _yeah_.”

“So what?” Spencer says, because really, he might not have a reputation for being adventurous, but the almost shock in Brendon’s eyes is pretty insulting. “I think that guy and what he’s doing is hot. Sue me.”

“No, but I mean—” Brendon says, and then stops short again, confusion turning into a sly smile. “So, do you know him, you know, on a less virtual level?”

“Why would I?” Spencer asks. “The fact that he never shows his face in pictures makes it pretty clear that he doesn’t want people to recognise him, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but,” Brendon says. “Maybe you should contact him anyway. Maybe he lives nearby. You could ask him out for kinky play dates.”

“Maybe he lives on the other side of the planet,” Spencer counters. “And maybe I don’t want to go on kinky play dates. Just forget you ever saw this, okay?”

Brendon looks like he wants to argue, but then shrugs instead and gives Spencer a smile that doesn’t comfort him in the slightest. “Sure. Never happened.”

“I’m serious,” Spencer says. “I mean, this is all new to me. And it’s all weird in my head. And I don’t want everyone we know joking about it 24/7.”

This time, Brendon’s smile is a lot more genuine, and when he pulls Spencer in for a hug, Spencer feels himself sag against him.

“Don’t worry,” Brendon says, and it’s amazing how, for a fleeting moment, Spencer doesn’t. “You’ll figure it out in time.”

“Thanks.”

“Now,” Brendon says, pulling out of the hug with a wicked smile back on his face, “let’s go have breakfast and you can tell me all about these new discoveries of yours.”

Spencer punches him in the arm and heads towards the kitchen.

***

That night, a comment shows up. Not the first to appear, of course, since the blog seems to get a pretty decent amount of traffic, but the first to really grab Spencer’s attention.

_Love of beauty is taste. The creation of beauty is art. Looking good there, bro. xoxo_

Which wouldn’t have stood out to Spencer if it wasn’t for the fact that the guy on the blog actually posted a reply.

_I always appreciate people who appreciate Emerson. And thanks. :)_

Spencer reads the exchange several times, then googles the quote, then reads the comments again. There’s an uncomfortable feeling under the tips of his fingers, itching for him to break in and tell this other person to get lost. Which is crazy, amongst other things.

Spencer throws the lid shut on his laptop and takes a deep breath. Getting jealous over an unknown guy on the Internet is definitely not part of any life plan he has for himself.

***

Five hours later, he gives up on trying to sleep and finds himself back on the blog, staring at the blinking cursor in a newly opened commenting window. He types in a sentence and hits send before he can change his mind, puts his laptop back on the floor and pulls a pillow over his head in frustration.

The next morning, his comment remains unanswered, but a flag is lit on the icon representing his do-stuff-anonymously-online inbox. Spencer hesitates before clicking, then again when he sees an e-mail from an unknown address. In the end, curiosity wins out.

_I’m new at this too, just trying shit out, but sometimes I feel like it’s the only thing that lets me really breathe._

_Good to know it’s having that effect on other people too._

_/Grant_

Spencer reads the message several times, feeling excitement like he hasn’t felt in way too long. He pulls up the blog in a new tab and scrolls through some of the most recent entries. There’s one from a few weeks back, a close up of the guy’s— _Grant’s_ , Spencer has a name—stomach covered with thin lines of molten wax swirling in intricate patterns.

He imagines the time and concentration it must have taken to create that pattern, the hiss of pain with every new hot drop of wax touching Grant’s pale skin. Arousal burns low in his gut, but there’s something else too—a quiet focus that somehow cuts him off from everything except his own body and its reactions.

_Sometimes, I feel like it’s the only thing that lets me really breathe._

Spencer clicks “reply”.

***

They e-mail nearly every day after that, and Spencer finds himself anticipating the little flag over his inbox icon to an extent that is, quite frankly, completely ridiculous.

They keep any personal information out (Spencer signing his letters “James” for lack of a more imaginative alias), but at the same time, Spencer hasn’t felt a connection as strong as the one he feels now to anyone but his closest friends and family.

It’s silly, but the one person it makes him think about is Ryan. They haven’t spoken in a while, and Spencer didn’t know how much he missed him until Grant’s e-mails reminded him of what it’s like to have someone echo his thoughts back at him before he even says them.

It’s a heady feeling. Spencer doesn’t want to stop.

***

“So, how’s life on the kinky side?” Brendon asks a month or so later, as they’re hanging out in Spencer’s couch, playing nostalgic rounds of drunk Halo. “Any hot play dates yet?”

“None of your business.”

“I take that as a no,” Brendon says. “Spencer, Spencer, whatever shall I do with you?”

“Not meddle in my sex life?” Spencer tries, without much hope.

“According to you, you don’t have one,” Brendon replies, which, yeah, point. Spencer shrugs.

“I learnt something interesting,” Brendon continues. “That blog you follow is run from LA. Apparently, the guy who runs it isn’t all that good at remembering to deactivate position links when he runs version updates.”

“Bren…”

“I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Spencer says, doing his best to ignore the way a thousand possibilities suddenly start to play themselves out inside his head. “Let’s just not talk, okay?”

Brendon grins and mimes pulling a zipper shut across his mouth. They turn their focus back to the game, but Spencer can’t concentrate, can’t stop thinking _he’s in LA_ , even after he does his best to shut down his brain by deciding they should each do penalty shots for losing a round.

He wakes up the next morning feeling like he’s been hit repeatedly by a truck, and what little blood was still in his head leaves quickly as he spots a new message from Grant in his inbox with the subject line “Let’s meet up”.

It’s a reply to an e-mail Spencer sent at three in the morning apparently, letting Grant know that he sucks at keeping his location a secret and asking for them to meet the following Saturday at a hotel bar not far from Spencer’s house.

Grant’s reply consists of only two words:

_OK. 7PM._

Spencer drops his head into his hands and tries to breathe.

***

He almost cancels more times than he can count, telling himself that it’s the biggest mistake he can make, that he’s not ready, that maybe he doesn’t want any of this after all.

In the end, he doesn’t though, and as the slow-burning feeling in his gut grows stronger the closer to Saturday it gets, Spencer is forced to admit to himself that there’s _something_ there, at least. So.

He arrives at the hotel bar twenty minutes early, thinking that he can have a drink to calm his nerves before Grant shows up (and avoid the awkwardness of scanning the room, trying to figure out what he might look like with his clothes on).

He orders a beer and chats about the latest game with the bartender. The bar is mostly empty. Spencer tries not to stare at the clock on the wall opposite as the minutes tick by.

“Spence?”

The familiar voice throws him completely. He turns around, seeing Ryan stand there before him, hair longer than Spencer remembers it and with a tiny bit of makeup at the corners of his eyes.

“Ryan. Hey. What—I mean, how’ve you been?”

“Good. Yeah. Pretty good. You?” Ryan replies, and it’s awkward—so very awkward—standing there trying to make small talk when the last time they even spoke on the phone was almost six months ago. Spencer glances at the clock, feeling slightly panicked. It’s ten to. Grant could walk in any minute now.

“I’m fine,” he says, trying to think of a way to move things along. “You here with someone?”

“Just meeting a friend,” Ryan says, leaning on the bar to catch the bartender’s attention. Spencer spots it at the same time as another bartender shows up and puts down two drinks and a sealed envelope in front of them: a slim rope of pearls wrapped tightly around Ryan’s right wrist.

“Ryan and Spencer?” the bartender asks, and Ryan nods, frowning. “This is for you. Compliments of a guy named Brendon who came in here earlier. Told me to keep an eye out for you.”

Spencer keeps staring at Ryan’s wrist. Ryan notices, and the frown on his face deepens before his eyes go wide and unbelieving. They snap out of it at the same time, both reaching for the envelope. Spencer is faster.

 _Dear idiot friends,_ the letter reads. _I can’t believe you didn’t figure it out on your own. Then again, you’ve been obsessed with each other and completely oblivious for as long as I’ve known you, so it’s no big surprise. You’re checked in on the fifth floor, room 538. Key’s at the reception._

_Love Brendon_

_PS. Don’t chicken out. Xoxo_

Spencer passes the note to Ryan, who reads it with a steadily flushing face. Spencer can’t breathe. It was Ryan. _Ryan_. Every picture, every e-mail, every thought Spencer’s had while jerking himself off for the past few months.

It’s all been Ryan.

Spencer has absolutely no idea what to say.

Ryan clears his throat. “So.”

“Yeah,” Spencer manages. “So.”

“What now?”

Spencer shakes his head as though to say “no fucking clue”, when laughter starts bubbling up out of nowhere until he can’t contain it.

Ryan starts laughing too, and they stand there, side by side, drinks courtesy of Brendon in front of them and Brendon’s note still in Ryan’s hand, laughing until they’re nearly crying with it.

“So I guess we should talk,” Ryan says, when they finally manage to calm themselves.

“I guess,” Spencer agrees, picking up one of the glasses and handing it to Ryan. “Have a drink with me?”

Ryan nods. “Where do you want to start?”

Spencer takes a sip of his drink, thinks about it. He has a million questions, and even more things he wants to say, and maybe explore, if they can make their way through.

“Tell me about this,” he says, touching his free hand to the strand of pearls around Ryan’s wrist and feeling the smooth texture beneath his fingers. “And we’ll see where it goes.”

Ryan smiles and puts down his glass.


End file.
